


Manor Plague

by Batsymomma11



Series: The Details of Being A Dad [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Ice Cream, No Sex, Sickness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Everyone is sick at Wayne Manor and they all need a little TLC.





	Manor Plague

**Author's Note:**

> Straight up feel-good fluff about the bat-family. This is a one-shot and I wrote it just for the goo. I love when the bats are sweet with each other.  
> I do not own DC or its characters. I do own the story.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> *changed rating to teen because of a couple curse words

Reruns of King of Queens played softly on the TV, the gentle hum of dialogue just above a whisper in the darkened living room.

Bodies draped carelessly over the sofa, and love seat. Arms and legs tangled amidst pajamas, sweatpants and messy hair. There was the faint smell of stale popcorn in the air with antiseptic and Lysol. Tissues were crumpled in neat piles, water bottles lined up with Tamiflu blister packs and Tylenol.

And just beneath it all, was the scent of sickness and sweat.

Sniffles and coughs. Running eyes and sore throats.

It was the scene of a Wayne manor pandemic. Everyone, including Alfred had fallen ill this time. They’d been hit with the flu like a ton of bricks and had been down for days. Suffering through the worst of the fevers and symptoms by hunkering down together.

Sighing into the hair from the head that was pressed into his chest, Bruce shifted his weight to try and bring life back into his arm. Damian was pinning it down under his dead weight as he draped casually over Bruce. Tim was on Bruce’s other side, legs draped over the edge of the couch, head in Bruce’s lap. Neither boy appeared to care that they were sharing the same air. Any other time, they’d be at each others’ throats.

A silent treaty had been drawn in favor of keeping the peace for the duration of the illness plaguing everyone. Bruce was grateful for it.

Jason and Dick were awake, but leaning into each other, faces drawn and pale as they stared sightlessly at the screen. They’d been stationed on the love seat for the last couple of hours, saying little but obviously drawing comfort from each other. Another rare sight, as Jason preferred to keep his distance, both emotionally and physically.

They wouldn’t say anything about it later.

“You alright over there, B?”

Bruce blinked at the boys, eyes hazy and glossed, “Everyone should take more meds. It’s time.”

It was important to stay up on the Tylenol. And they were all due for their Tamiflu. But Bruce couldn’t imagine making his feet move to get up and fetch the drugs, even as they were only a few feet away. His body felt heavy and weak, particularly pinned down as he was with the younger two. It would be easy to tip his head back on the sofa and drift into sleep. But then he’d wake up sometime in the middle of the night with dead arms and a crick in his neck that would make him want to kill someone come morning.

He wasn’t as young and malleable as he used to be.

“Boys,” Bruce murmured, briefly hugging Damian closer as he carded a hand through Tim’s tangled mass of curls. “Wake up.”

Damian growled lowly. Tim made a soft sigh and rolled so his face was pressed to Bruce’s stomach, gustily blowing hot air through the thin t-shirt covering it.

“Need some help old man?”

Bruce smiled thinly up at Jason. He was already standing, though he looked sallow in the television’s blue lighting. Dick still sat on the loveseat, his expression thoughtful, cheeks flushed from fever. Bruce imagined he looked much the same. Glazed and weary.

They made for a sorry lot.

“I’m cold,” Damian mumbled, groggily looking up at Bruce with a scowl.

“It’s fever Damian. You need more meds. Everyone does. Let’s get up and reload.”

“M’kay,” Tim mumbled, rolling again with Jason’s help. The boy clung to his older brother, keeping his hand in Jason’s like a toddler does its parent. A surge of warmth filled  Bruce’s chest at the sight, rare as it was, and he smiled fuzzily at them. Working to get out of the confines of the couch, he hooked Damian’s arms around his neck and moved to stand. Dick had taken over the position of pharmacist and was already handing pills out.

Bruce pushed Tylenol and Tamiflu at Damian and the boy accepted it without a fight.

Everyone re-upped on meds, they all flopped back onto their separate couches, flipped channels and found Sharknado playing on the Sci-fi channel. Tim stayed with Jason and Damian remained locked around Bruce. Dick had silently moved to take the vacancy beside Bruce on the sofa and was leaning into him, a heavy sweaty weight.

They remained silent for almost an hour before Jason cleared his throat, “I could use something cold. My throat is killing me.”

Dick stirred, lifting his head off Bruce’s shoulder, “Like ice cream?’

Damian perked up, loosening his grip around Bruce’s neck, “Ice cream?”

“Yeah, that sounds amazing.”

Bruce chuckled, and it was muffled with congestion. “It’s after midnight.”

“Come on B, something is probably open.”

“We could do drive-through,” Dick offered lightly, reaching for Bruce’s right hand to squeeze it. Bruce sighed, feeling outmaneuvered, and very much tempted to agree. Something cold would feel good on his sore throat and they didn’t need to get out of the car if they did the drive through.

“What would be open?”

“McDonald's?”

Bruce lifted a brow, “They don’t have many options.”

“B, they have Mcflurries. And ice cream cones. Twist cones—you’re favorite."

“Mmmm,” Damian hummed, brightening considerably. “Can we father? Please?”

A twist cone did sound pretty damn good.

Bruce looked from one pair of expectant eyes to the next, then finally, shrugged a shoulder. What Alfred didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him. “Alright, let’s load up.”

They shuffled towards the garage, filed into the car and sedately pulled out. By the time they hit the interstate, Damian was snoring again, Dick and Jason were whispering and laughing, and Tim, who’d claimed shotgun, was fiddling with the radio looking for something decent.

It was all very domestic. All very warm and sweet. Even if they were all driving around like a pack of infected zombies. Bruce could appreciate the closeness his family was enjoying due to illness.

Particularly as it wouldn’t last once everyone was better.

They went to the closest McDonald’s, ordered, then pulled into a parking spot to devour their treats. No one said anything. Only the sound of humming NPR on the radio and the car’s engine kept the silence from becoming stifling while they ate. No one was in a hurry to get home and back to their quarantine either.

So, they silently took their time.

When everyone was finished, they pulled back on the highway and headed in the direction of home.

But everyone seemed lighter. Like instead of ice cream they’d consumed light fluffy optimism.

It was close to two in the morning when they pulled into the garage and the peace from their drive was broken predictably with a squabble over getting to bed. What if they needed more meds? Who was going to go get them? What about the water bottles they’d left in the living room? And of course, everyone needed their own tissue box. And yes, Damian insisted on having the blue checkered one. It was different than the rest.

They dragged sluggishly up the stairs, were given strict orders to brush teeth then hit the hey, and then everyone parted ways with mumbled goodnights.

Bruce got to his own bedroom, collapsed onto his mattress and gave a ragged self-indulgent sigh. They were over the worst of it. He knew that. But he felt the achiness down through his bones, spidering through every muscle fiber.

God, he was getting old.

Getting sick with the flu, was not for the faint of heart.

“Father?”

Bruce blinked over at the crack of light coming from his doorway and saw Damian peering in. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…I just…can I sleep here?”

Bruce bit his lip to keep from laughing at the disgruntled angry look he was offering in such strict opposition to his question. “You know my bed is big enough.”

“You are certain?”

“Of course.”

The hall light flicked off, the door closed with a soft snitch and then Damian was crawling across the bed to snuggle into Bruce’s side. It was times like these when Bruce reminded of his son’s age. He was only eleven. A child. No matter how he behaved to the contrary.

“Better?” Bruce asked softly, smoothing a hand over Damian’s forehead. There was a bit of heat there, but with the Tylenol it was subdued.

“Mmmf.”

“Good.”

They drifted into a lulling silence and Bruce felt the heavy tug of sleep on his eyelids. Then his door was cracking open again and there was a timid voice asking to come in.

“Tim?”

“Yeah. I can’t sleep.”

“Come here.”

Tim obeyed, though Damian had stiffened as if he were about to strike when he drew close to the mattress. Ignoring it, Bruce tugged Tim down onto the bed and arranged one boy on each shoulder. Pressing a kiss to each head, he sighed and felt his eyes slip closed again.

He was almost completely out of it when his door was being opened once again, only this time to admit a much taller brother.

“Jason?” Bruce’s voice sound thick and roughened with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?”

There was a quick jerky nod, a hunching of shoulders, then Jason was moving to Damian’s side and climbing under the covers without another word. Bruce didn’t have the energy to care that he was now sharing his bed with three other living beings. He could barely keep his eyes open.

When he finally slipped deep and he was lulled into darkness by the sound of Jason’s snoring, he thought he heard Dick’s whispered laugh and felt the mattress dipping. But then he was out cold.

 

Bruce woke with a pair of feet in his face and an elbow in his ribs. He blinked open sandpaper eyes and hazily made out the shape of toes, then ankles propped on his neck. The elbow was skinny and undoubtedly Tim’s. There was a head pressing into his stomach and it felt like Damian’s. The feet? They were big.

Jason.

Fighting a yawn, Bruce assessed his own condition and was pleasantly surprised to find he wasn’t running a fever this morning. In fact, his head was only mildly thrumming. The pressure behind his eyes delicately present but not abominable.

“Stop that,” someone grouched angrily, “You’re stabbing me with your fucking knee.”

“Language Jason,” Bruce mumbled to his feet, sure that Jason was the culprit.

A moment later, Dick was sitting up, hair plastered to the side of his head, an angry pout on his face. “That’s no way to talk to your brother first thing in the morning.”

“Shhh,” Tim grouched, grinding that elbow into Bruce’s side more as he rolled away from the noise.

Damian was apparently still out cold. He hadn’t moved at all but the pressure he was exuding on Bruce’s stomach was also unfortunately grinding into his bladder.

“Boys, I need out.”

“Why?” Jason grumbled, wrapping a heavy arm over Bruce’s legs.

“Yes,” Dick agreed, settling back down beside Damian to give Bruce his back, “why? It’s still early. Go back to sleep.”

“Because I need to pee.”

Tim snorted, “Hold it,”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why?” Jason again, sounding like he was about to start hitting.

“Because I’m old. Now move.”

He tried to dislodge all the bodies draped over him and failed miserably. Damian ground his head harder to keep Bruce down, Dick groped around for Bruce’s hand and held tight. Tim, God those bony limbs, and Jason merely laughed and held tighter.

“Ah, I see everyone is feeling better?” Alfred’s airy voice drifted through the room, warm and welcome and Bruce smiled weakly at the butler, grateful for the interruption.

“It appears so.”

“Young masters, I’ve prepared breakfast downstairs.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick smiled pleasantly, but didn’t move.

Alfred lifted a brow, “It will grow cold if you remain in bed much longer.”

“Yes,” Bruce huffed, “And if you don’t get your asses moving I’m going to start clubbing whoever is nearest.”

Jason laughed, finally releasing Bruce’s legs. “Someone needs their coffee.”

“Mmmhmm,” Tim muttered, “Me too.”

“M’kay,” Damian finally sat up, blinked several times, then pushed off the mattress. Bruce shoved at the remaining bodies, gained freedom and made it the bathroom in record time.

When he joined the boys downstairs in the kitchen, the smells of bacon, coffee, and eggs were overwhelming and so very welcome. He hadn’t really been hungry in days and now, his stomach growled fiercely.

Bruce was offered a mug of coffee, pushed down into a seat at the table and given a plate full of steaming food. All the boys were already digging in and maybe it was the steam coming off his breakfast, or leftover flu making his eyes burn, but he felt impossibly warm looking at all of them. And grateful.

“What?” Jason frowned, pausing mid-bite to stare at Bruce.

“Nothing. I’m just glad we’re all on the mend.”

Alfred smiled knowingly across the table, sipping at his own tea as he watched them. “As am I.”

           


End file.
